Shadows And Soles
by levinserra
Summary: Set after the book... What Peter does to fill the lonely hours of his life without Wendy... rather morbid. By the way, it's "Soles" as opposed to "Souls" in reference to the way Peter's shadow connected to the bottom of his feet...


It was a late October night and the last rays of the dying sun had long since passed from existence. The city was dark; the pale light of the lamps did little to evade the increasing gloom. The streets were quiet, in this section of town. There were no pubs; no rowdy parties to keep these well-bred personalities up. Few women of the night roamed these roads, being patrolled regularly by the constable, but a daring few made it their territory, and did well.  
  
One of these attempted to sell her wares to the dark young man under the lamppost but he merely pulled his dark cloak tighter around him and otherwise ignored her. She walked away, a pretty pout on her face, trying to entrance him with her leaving. Seeing even that fail, she gave up and went to ply her goods elsewhere. The young man allowed a bitter smile once the strumpet was out of sight. He had one goal tonight; thank God, only one.  
  
It was in the window now, the tower window of the richest merchant living on this street. He had watched that window since nightfall and nothing else in the house had failed to come under his strict surveillance. The merchant's daughter, a red-haired beauty of a thing was finally home. He cared little for beauty, but even he was impressed by this one's charm. Her skin was porcelain, with the slightest flush of red at the perfect spot on her cheek. Her teeth, pearly white and straight; her lips, dark red and sensuous. She was proud. Her arched neck and tall, straight back bore evidence of that. She lacked nothing to make her life whatever she would, yet unhappy she was…  
  
Gathering his strength, he leaped and caught the air current to lead him up to her window. He stood there a moment, merely gazing in, at the oblivious girl that was his goal. He landed on the wide, columned balcony, softly fluttering his cloak around him. Slowly he opened the locked door leading into her room. The door creaked as he opened it, with an echoing screech of noise. She turned, frozen by the sudden fear.  
  
"Who… who are you?" she exclaimed, startled by the sudden and unknown entrance of a strange male.  
  
"I was Peter Pan," he said solemnly, silhouetted in the still open window.  
  
"But you're… he…" she stuttered, unable to believe the audacity of this, this cretin to enter her bedroom, then claim to be Peter Pan.  
  
"I was he and he was me."  
  
"Nonsense. Peter Pan is a story. Besides, I thought Peter Pan was a bright, happy boy," she said, scorn dripping from her voice.  
  
"So I grew up. Don't believe everything you read in stories, " he said, with equal amounts of scorn in his voice.  
  
Stung by his disrespectful tone, she asked caustically, "Why are you here then, Mr. Pan? Shouldn't you be protecting the island from pirates?"  
  
"I've got a new job now," he said quietly.  
  
After this neither of them spoke for a long time. She took this time to look over this madman who had found his way into her quarters with the critical eye of wealth. He seemed bathed in shadows; no matter where he moved, they followed. His long, jet-black hair was matted, yet strangely beautiful, as if those fairies in the stories had left it that way, with a little magic in it. His dark cloak he wore seemed all-purpose; for rain, fog, sleet or wind, this coat would protect him. It was floor length and swept around him seductively whenever he moved. And his eyes… whenever she tried to look him in the eyes she failed and looked away again. They were hooded and even more in shadow than the rest of him. She shuddered, with fear and longing towards this man.  
  
Slowly Peter moved towards her, stopping immediately in front of her. He reached out and runs a hand along her cheekbone, from her ear to her chin. She shuddered again, at the coldness of his pale hands, and at the feel of her heart pounding in her chest. His fingers trailed lightly up on to her lips and suddenly he pulled her towards him in a gentle embrace and kissed her deeply and passionately. He pulled away and looked her deep in the eyes. She could not look away, and was drawn into the icy abyss of the light blue eyes. She collapsed, and Peter let her, merely moving to the side to get out of her way. He pulled his cloak back around him, smiling jadedly at him crumpled figure, dead of an epileptic attack.  
  
"I am Death."  
  
No sound was left but the whispering of the curtains as the new figure of Death flew out the window and into the dank, cold night. 


End file.
